Beauty, Pain
by Ephemera
Summary: Spike, Xander, a little light blackmail and a beauty parlour. Slash. [mostly PG13, one racy scene]
1. 1

Title: Beauty, Pain. Part 1/9 Author: Ephemera Email : AN1@starmail.com Pairing: S/X Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss Whedon and various big companies made and own them - I'm just playing. Feedback: Please! All flavours greatly appreciated. A/N: My first challenge fic. Set somewhere in Season Four, playing fast and loose with the timeline.  
  
For Benaresq, with grateful thanks for the rest of the Hive Brain.  
  
"Pain is beauty, beauty, pain"  
  
*****  
  
Slouching in that gawd-awful recliner, one elbow resting on a raised knee, Spike looked the picture of contentment. He was spinning a business card between the finger and thumb of his upraised hand and smiling a very worrying smile.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing much, pet, nothing much."  
  
Xander's sense of unease ratcheted up another couple of notches. Looking somewhere between confused and concerned, he settled for a disbelieving shrug. Spike flourished the card and grinned as he spoke.  
  
"Got a message for you, though."  
  
"Yeeees?"  
  
Xander just knew he was being set up somehow, but wasn't quite sure for what, or how.  
  
"Deb'N'Hair Beauty Salon called - they need to reschedule your appointment. Becki's out sick and they don't have anyone to cover her clients tomorrow."  
  
"Oh."  
  
The sheer panic that flashed across Xander's face made Spike's smile that shade sharper. He paused a second, watching as Xander dragged a hand through his hair The inspiration for a get-out was visible as it hit. Xander drew breath to start bluffing. Perfect timing.  
  
"Keeping secrets pet? Didn't know you waxed."  
  
And that breath came out again in a silent expletive and Spike pressed his lips together in an even tighter grin to keep from laughing out loud at the beautiful panic and confusion rolling off the boy.  
  
"Like you can complain, Mr. Bleached and Blow-dried."  
  
"Never said I was criticizing."  
  
That took the wind out of Xander's attempt to rant his way out of the situation, and threw him even further off balance. He floundered for something to say that would just make this whole situation Go Away. It wasn't like he'd asked for an undead roommate who couldn't keep his nose out of other people's business.  
  
"'Course, your mates at work might think differently. The Slayer's into the whole personal grooming thing though - you share salon tips with her then?"  
  
Again, opening and closing his mouth wasn't making actual words come out and where's a ready wit when you really need it?  
  
"Your demon chick does know though, doesn't she?"  
  
That he could answer, at least.  
  
"It was her idea, Spike, so you can't blackmail me that way."  
  
"Blackmail? I'm shocked pet! You really think - weeell, yeah, I would, wouldn't I, being evil 'n all."  
  
And the grin was back with a vengeance. Xander gave up any attempt to make it over to the microwave, and hit the couch instead, head in his hands. Voice muffled by his position, he asked  
  
"What's the deal Spike - Cash? Cigarettes? You've already got free blood and a roof over your head courtesy of Casa Del Harris."  
  
"Actually, was thinking more in the way of a road trip - couple of days of your company, use of the wheels .course some beer and fags for the road's not a bad idea"  
  
Xander groaned, and settled in to listen to Spike elaborate his plan. 


	2. 2

Xander was in danger of damaging his neck, or possibly crashing the car, as he whipped his head from watching the crowded road to peering at the scribbled directions on the passenger seat. Standing on the brakes for the third time in five minutes as yet another car lurched across his lane, his muttering became full-on out-loud venting.  
  
"Why the hell did I ever agree to this? Oh, yeah, that's right, because I'm a shame faced girly loser! Anya had better be really really appreciative of the shiny, smooth new look me, because this is all her fault - her and her 'excessive body hair is distasteful and unhygienic. You should have it removed so that I can gain more pleasure from your body'. Which is why I now have deep dark girly secrets that means that Deadboy Junior back there can blackmail me into driving him half way across the country to some gig, on pain of being found out for the useless girly loser that, yes, I do seem to be. Boy figuring that out just makes my day so much better."  
  
Finally matching the junction number on the roadside and the one on the notes beside him, Xander pulled across two lanes, leaving a howl of horns behind, and eventually managed to get off the freeway. Flipping the sheet of directions one handed, the final stage - a roughly sketched map - was easy enough to follow. It was only a few more minutes before he was swinging the car down the ramp of the underground car park that was their destination.  
  
As soon as he killed the engine the barrage of muffled cursing and rapid hammering he'd decided to ignore entirely since about two miles outside Sunnydale city limits started up again. He pulled the trunk lever. By the time he'd got out of the car and stretched the kinks out of his back, Spike had kicked open the trunk. Sitting with his legs hanging out of the tailgate, rolling his shoulders and grumbling he was patting down his pockets, searching for a smoke.  
  
"What you staring at Harris? - It's not exactly White Line standard in the back here."  
  
"Hey there Spike! - doing you the favor."  
  
That earned him an evil look.  
  
"Right, well then - shall we get going?"  
  
Spike strode off, bounding up the stairwell, leaving Xander to follow behind. When he caught up with the hyperactive vampire, Spike was waiting impatiently by graffiti covered door. As Xander was walking up the last flight of stairs, he knocked on the door with a flourish.  
  
When it opened, Spike may have been quite happy to step inside and start chatting, but Xander was going to stand in the doorway a moment, franticly calculating just how embarrassing it would really be to explain to the guys at the site why exactly he was visiting the beauty parlor back home.  
  
Rolling his eyes dramatically, Spike reached back and grabbed Xander's wrist firmly and pulled him inside, so the door could be swung shut again. This revealed the small pink haired woman who'd opened it. Xander was pretty sure that staring open mouthed as rude, but didn't seem to be able to transmit that thought to his eyes and mouth as he looked around.  
  
Despite the less than salubrious entrance, the place looked - well, eerily normal: high ceilings, lots of blue and silver tiling, mirrors and bright lighting. Admittedly the row of doors leading off down one side of the room could have been hiding anything, but the reception desk, complete with potted plants and a pony tailed and mini-skirted receptionist flicking through a magazine could have been lifted from a Salon's R Us catalogue. Well, until you realized that the elegantly groomed receptionist was a guy, and the magazine had a lot of photos that Cosmo wouldn't usually carry. No one seemed remotely bothered by the fact that only one of the new arrivals could be seen in the mirrors on each wall either.  
  
"Spike? Wha? . I though you wanted to go to a gig?"  
  
Xander finally managed to get out a whole sentence, only to be greeted with Spike's patented 'You really are a moron' glare.  
  
"We are - later - thought I'd take the chance to get my hair done. Might as well get your salon visit out the way too - Kit - you can fit him in, can't you?"  
  
The receptionist looked up, ran a long decalled nail down the appointment book - black with silver ink Xander noticed - and nodded.  
  
"Should be fine. What's he want done?"  
  
Xander was going to protest, forcefully and maturely, that he was still in the room thank you very much. Except Spike was giving him a really quite distracting examination, sweeping his eyes slowly up from the ground. He found himself starting to blush under the scrutiny.  
  
"Might as well get it all done while we're here."  
  
The considering look morphed back into the more familiar 'evil smirk', and turning back towards Kit he spoke rapidly  
  
"Full body wax, manicure, pedicure, hair, the works - nothing permanent though - could do without having his Mrs. on my back."  
  
Xander's panic abated a little with that final request, which took him back down to 'incoherent muttering' as Spike waved cheerily and stalked down the hall apparently knowing exactly where he was going.  
  
Just as Xander was about to give in entirely to a moment of well-deserved panic he felt a gentle touch on his arm. Looking down only a little wildly he realized it was the woman who had opened the door for them.  
  
"I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name."  
  
"Oh. Erm, Xander, Xander Harris . Look, I'm really not sure .."  
  
"First time? You'll be fine! Come on through to the treatment room, and we'll get started. My name's Lizzie, by the way. So, what's the big event?"  
  
"Some band - at the Forum - more his thing really. I'm just along as the transport."  
  
"Really? You know, I've never known him to bring a guest before. Sorry, that's none of my business."  
  
She had a soft slightly southern accent, and for all the pink hair and piercings her conversation was calming. She guided him into one of the small rooms, and pointed him to a padded leather recliner, while she bustled around the room, dragging over a trolley and stool, and keeping up a constant stream of questions all the while. Xander never quite got the chance to voice his fears about what, exactly, she was about to do amid the chatter. Without quite knowing how, Xander found himself with one hand soaking in a bowl of warm scented water while the other was massaged with a matching lotion - sandalwood and cedar - dispensed from a sleek black pump bottle.  
  
If asked he would have had to admit that this wasn't bad. Pretty good, in fact. He started to relax under the firm strokes of her hands. Lizzie deftly kept the conversation moving as she worked. Complimenting him on his strong forearms and tutting over the state of his nails meant that Xander felt the need to explain about his new job.  
  
"That makes sense" she nodded "With the tan and those shoulders I'd have guessed at some sort of outside work - that or you're a real gym bunny. You don't get a body like yours without some hard work."  
  
He could feel himself starting to blush yet again. He really wasn't used to being complemented by strange women, and she was kinda cute herself.  
  
"Um, thanks - I guess. Anya seems to like it, so that's of the good."  
  
"Anya? That your girlfriend?"  
  
Christ, where do you start to explain a 1000-year-old ex-vengeance demon who occasionally chooses to interlock body parts with you?  
  
"Sort of."  
  
"Only sort of? I'd have thought there's be hundreds of girls chasing after a fine catch like you!"  
  
Xander repressed the shudder as his mind helpfully flashed the memory of being chased through the streets by the womenfolk of Sunnydale  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Just wait till we're done with you, then, and you'll be able to take your pick."  
  
Not living on the hellmouth, she probably thought that was a good thing. Warm and relaxed as she worked her hands up and down the other forearm, Xander started to doze off, the adrenaline panic melting away with the tension knots. 


	3. 3

Disoriented only began to describe Xander's feeling on waking to find two women massaging his feet. Embarrassed, confused, mortified, they're all good words too. Trying to remember where he was and which disreputable sneakers he'd been wearing and why the heck were people massaging his feet? Xander jumped, trying to stand up, not quite connecting the instinct to the fact that they were his feet that were getting massaged.  
  
"Hey there, calm down! You're good - just dozed of for a bit."  
  
He managed a breath, and dragged her name back from wherever it had been hiding in his head.  
  
"Lizzie! Sorry - just a bit dazed and confused there for a second. It's been a long day."  
  
More like night and day. For some reason he hadn't slept so well after agreeing to drive the vampire down here, and it had been an early start and a long drive.  
  
"Not to worry, Xander, not to worry. In fact it's good to know I'm doing a good job on the relaxation front. Anyway, this is Debs; she'll be taking over in a moment. I have another client I need to see.  
  
"Em, Hi, Debs. Nice to meet you."  
  
What was the etiquette on shaking hands with someone who's stroking the arch of your foot like that? Lifting his head from the reclining chair, Xander settled for a weak wave and a mild gulp when he realized that his nails - hands and feet - were sporting shining black nail polish. His eyes closed as he processed that new fact - and the rationalization that followed- its only nail polish after all, comes off easy enough.  
  
He opened his eyes again, and cast around the room, only to find Spike leaning against the doorframe, that same worrying smile he'd been wearing last night still safely in place.  
  
"Spike!"  
  
Well, that was manly and urbane. More of a squeak than a greeting.  
  
"Harris."  
  
Spike nodded in greeting, cheekbones sharpening as he tried, not entirely successfully, to suck down a grin at Xander's disorientation.  
  
"How you getting on?"  
  
Xander gulped  
  
"Fine? I think."  
  
"Lizzie - what's the ETA?"  
  
"Well, Debs is just about to do her thing, and we've got him a slot with Karl to get his hair done at 6 --what time's the gig?"  
  
"Timed it nicely - Doors at 7.30. Trust you guys to do a proper job, mind."  
  
"Always do, Spike, we always do."  
  
Xander was watching this by-play with fascination - clearly Spike was a regular here - what sort of place was this anyway? On the other hand, it would be ungrateful to panic when this stroking and squeezing felt so good. Letting out a long breath Xander relaxed back into the chair - may as well go along for the ride.  
  
"No problem if I wait is it, Debs?"  
  
"Course not"  
  
Xander was getting that urge to point out he was still in the room again - although, at this stage, what difference could it possibly make? Settling back, he was disappointed when Debs stopped her circling of his ankles and moved away from the chair. He must have let out a tiny sigh, because Spike's grin just got that bit less hidden.  
  
"Right then, gentleman, I'll be off - Debs will take good care of you Xander."  
  
With that Lizzie squeezed past Spike and left the small room.  
  
"Right. Xander, could you strip off and pop these on?"  
  
Without anyone holding his feet Xander was on them in moments, staring aghast at the robe and the. What was that anyway? Figuring out that it was a disposable thong didn't calm him down any either.  
  
"Come on pet, you were going to get this done anyway - at least here you know they're the best."  
  
Xander froze for a second, taking in the politely confused Debs, still holding out the robe, and Spike, leaning happily against the doorframe. Weighing his options, and Anya's criticism running through his memories, he tried to put his outrage aside. A deep breath and he took the handful of clothes from Debs, and started to look around for a place to change. He missed Debs and Spike exchanging amused glances, but the rising tension in the room didn't escape him.  
  
"Close the door then, will you?"  
  
From somewhere he mustered his determination to prove them wrong - he hadn't spent all that time washing dishes in Oxnard for nothing, after all, - and pulled his shirt and t-shirt over his head together. Shrugging on the loose white robe, he kept his back turned resolutely to the door, and reached under the robe to unbuckle his belt and tug down his pants. The thong was uncomfortable, but it did make sense that it would be a bad thing to get his shorts covered in wax, so he could deal. Standing back up, thankful he'd managed not to fall over or expose himself while changing, he turned round again. Debs was setting up another trolley, but Spike wasn't even pretending not to stare.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing, mate. Expecting a bit more of an argument is all."  
  
"I promised Anya I'd get it done while she was away for the week, might as well be here."  
  
"Fair enough - you ready Debs?"  
  
"Yep - if you'll just hop back up on the couch?"  
  
Biting his lip, mainly to stop anything embarrassing marching out of it, Xander gingerly sat back on the treatment chair. Somewhere in that whole getting changed period Debs had laid down a sheet over the creamy leather.  
  
"OK, Xander, can you just roll over for me? We'll start with the back"  
  
This he could manage. Not a much different from the Sunnydale salon, although that experience usually came without a smirking vampire to complete the ambience of the room. Xander wriggled over, trying not to drag the sheet with him, and Debs untied the back of the robe, baring his back. Once settled, arms crossed under his head, he had to ask.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Why are you still here?"  
  
"Why not? Nothing to be embarrassed about, is there"  
  
Great, so chucking him out was going to make him look like some kind of prude. Jeez! On the other hand, Spike was living in his one room basement - privacy not so much the issue any more. The fact that the vampire knew far more than was comfortable about Xander's grooming routine would be why he was in this situation in the first place .  
  
"Thought you'd be bored silly"  
  
"Always happy to lend immoral support, pet"  
  
And again with the pet - this was definitely of the weird. However the sudden heat of the hot wax and the press of the spatula rapidly refocused Xander's attention across his left shoulder.  
  
Hotter than warm, but cooler than the first splashes of a candle, the wax actually felt good on tired muscles. Firm hands patted down across the same stretch of skin, and then, almost too quick to register, pulled up and away. Xander jumped, biting down on whatever it was that wanted to come out of his mouth again. Big strong man here, not going to be beaten by a bit of girly hair removal. Breathing out slowly as a second strip of wax was applied, he braced himself this time. See? Not so bad - just breath and feel, and thank goodness for quick fingers.  
  
He'd tried one of those home kits, about the tenth time Anya had insisted that body hair just wasn't her thing. Of course it's pretty hard to get a good grip on something on your own back, and it had taken a good couple of hours in the bath to soak off the remains of the strips. That feeling, like a giant Band-Aid being pulled off really *really* slowly - he'd rather go out with Buffy, get thrown around by the demon of the day, thanks. This really wasn't so bad though - breathing, breathing. Thinking about the kiss of warm wax on stiff muscles and holding his breath for each quick tear. As she finished each section of his back Debs was applying some sort of lotion, soothing the slow burn of the reddening skin.  
  
All of which was going fine until she worked her way down to the waistband of those paper pants. Flinching at the press of the spatula down the back of his thigh, Xander wasn't half-ready enough for either the sound or the feel of that strip tearing off him. Ok, ok, so his legs were virgin territory for Mistress Wax and Hurt, but still! The yell escaped before he had had time to realize that it hurt. Debs' rapid check that he was, in fact, ok, was framed by a not-so-quiet chuckle from the watching vampire.  
  
"Spike! - Sorry, Debs, no I'm fine. Really. Just took me by surprise is all. Spike - shut the hell up!"  
  
"Xander, pet - you should see yourself!"  
  
Xander was going to have to admit that he probably looked fairly ridiculous screwed round on that chair, half red and hairless, half still au natural, with a wax strip hanging off his thigh and wearing paper underwear. But that didn't make Spike right.  
  
"That's it - get out! - Out! - Go! Find something else to amuse you Deadboy"  
  
He started to settle back on the couch while Debs apologized repeatedly, and moved back to finish the job. Not hearing the door open, Xander twisted his head round again.  
  
"Spike - I meant it - go - this is not performance art."  
  
"If you say so, Harris. Looks like a right performance from here"  
  
"Spike."  
  
Still smirking, Spike held up a hand, and nodded in assent. Opening the door - oh great - thanks Spike, nice and wide so everyone walking past can see in - the vampire took himself off. Another pause while Debs, thankfully, closed the door again, and it was back to the serious business of breathing and not squeaking. Not even when the hot wax hit the sensitive skin on the back of the knees, or the bone and nerve filled skin of his ankles decided that really, it wanted to spend the rest of its life in true love with the goopy wax strip after all. Not even when he let himself think about the fact that he was wearing skimpy paper underwear, and it was an attractive young blond that was arranging his legs in that truly ungainly way so as to get to his inner thighs. Not even when she did get at them, hot wax and sticky cotton *far* higher than he'd even thought possible, although possibly that round the squeal did win, because Debs was apologizing again, promising that it was all nearly over.  
  
"Right - all done."  
  
Feeling quite a lot like he imagined a Thanksgiving turkey must feel, Xander let out a long breath. Squeezing out a generous handful of the scented lotion, she smoothed over his sore sensitive skin once more, removing any last traces of wax, and calming the angry pores.  
  
"You know the drill? No deodorants or soaps for at least 12 hours, stay out of the sun, yadda yadda yadda?  
  
"Yep, sure"  
  
"Good. Right - you've got half an hour or so before your hair appointment - would you like some coffee?" 


	4. 4

The buzz of the clippers, warm and vibrating against the back of his neck was been disarmingly normal, although the cool breezes that the soft brush flicking away the shavings had sent around his ears was - odd. But this - whatever this was - this was much less pleasant, and only the presence of a snarky Spike was keeping him from yelping and whining. That and the risk of annoying Karl. Annoying Karl would be a bad thing. Apart from the multiple things he had clamped to Xander's head, Karl stretched out the salon's uniform black t-shirt far more than either of the women had, and in far less attractive ways. He'd apparently had to cut the sleeves off entirely to make room for his biceps.  
  
Letting him approach with a cutthroat razor had been a real battle between trust and the sheer embarrassment factor of fleeing the room wearing a robe and a shaving cream beard. While he'd seemed thoughtful and calm to the point of placid when considering what to do to Xander's scalp, who knew what he might do if his artistry was questioned?  
  
And really, it was too late in the day to try and salvage his honor, anyway, so he may as well try and enjoy the ride. At least that was the plan. Once he'd got past the whole Hugh Hefner feeling of drinking cappuccino and picking at tiny open sandwiches while surrounded by buxom women and dressed only in a robe, he'd taken a long moment to stare at his reflection and think Oz-like thoughts. Now though, Oz-like calm was rapidly fraying around the edges, replaced with a constant stream of pulls and pinches, and weird oozing sensations.  
  
The clock in the mirror was clearly possessed. That's the only possible explanation for why it had taken at least an hour to move on 15 minutes. Some sort of demon hairdresser clock. And it's just plain disconcerting to be listening to Spike's commentary, but only see one half of the conversation. Karl: solid, thoughtful seeming Karl, seemed more than happy to be carrying out a critique of various fashion trends while making eye contact in the mirror with the invisible man. And, you know, lets not argue with the guy who seems to be wielding welding tools near your scalp . The arm rests of the leather and chrome chair were going to have nail marks though.  
  
Trying to bring his concentration to bear on anything *but* that definitely odd oozing feeling, Xander tuned in on the conversation, only to realize that at some point Spike had stopped being in it.  
  
"Em? Spike?"  
  
He tried to look round, only to freeze again, with new pulling and pinching sensations plus extra free skull clamping courtesy of Karl's strong fingers.  
  
"I'm sorry Xander - if you can just keep your head still for a few more minutes."  
  
"Sure - sorry - where did Spike go?"  
  
"He didn't say - Kit will know if he's left the salon though, so don't you worry."  
  
Xander returned to trying to think of the Oz - seemed appropriate for hair pain, although somehow, you've got to hope that dye was less painful than this. Karl rumbled on, talking mainly to himself, and throwing out odd lines to Xander, that left the young man entirely uncertain if he was meant to answer or not. He was just not going to think about the possibility of being asked where he was going on vacation this year, or if he needed anything for the weekend. If his ears were hearing any such thing then clearly they were lying to him and should be ignored.  
  
Shutting the door of 'his' treatment room behind him, Xander opened up the glossy card shopping bag that he'd been given so he could get dressed again. Opened it, and stared blankly for a moment at its contents. He opened the door again, and called down the corridor:  
  
"Lizzie? Lizzie - I think you gave me the wrong bag."  
  
Looking up from the clipboard she and Kit were discussing over the reception counter, she looked worried for a section, and came back over to take a look at the bag's contents again.  
  
"There aren't my clothes - there should be a plaid shirt."  
  
Grinning a little, Lizzie interrupted  
  
"Oh - no - these aren't the clothes you were wearing earlier - we've got those here for you - these are your clothes for tonight? For the gig? Didn't he say? Oh - I'm sorry. Spike asked me to pick out a couple of outfits for you, to go with your new look for the evening - I hope I've got the sizes right and everything. - Whatever you don't want, just pop back in the bag and I'll return it - no problems"  
  
"Oh. OK."  
  
What else could he say? Sometimes it's just not worth fighting the weird - if his undead roommate wanted to give him a makeover, who was he to complain? Costume party. Just think of it as dressing up - you're seven hours away from anyone who knows you and hasn't seen you in paper underwear with a waxing strip stuck to your butt. You can put on some clothes and go out for the evening in fancy dress.  
  
Shutting the door again, Xander took the bag over to the central seat, and shook out its contents for a closer look. There was no way in hell he was going to get into those jeans, 5% lycra or not, and skin tight denim might work on a certain vampire, but not a good look for the breathing. Tucking them back in the bag, he reached for the next item - a soft black bowling shirt. Tossing that across the back of the chair in a 'to try on' pile, Xander continued to sort. PVC t-shirt - back in the bag. Black and red kilt - *so* back in the bag. Baggy looking black cargo pants - to try on. T- shirt with some sort of circuit board on the front - to try on. That left a small pile of silver jewelry, and a couple of pouches. Deciding to leave the accesorising for later, Xander shucked the robe, and promptly realized there was no underwear in the bag. //Well, it's those pants or nothing, so I guess it won't hurt to go commando trying them on//  
  
They were made of some sot of silky synthetic fabric, shiny, black, with clear plastic piping outlining the patch pocket on one leg, and forming a band around the other thigh. Pulling them on over his newly hairless skin was a weird sensation - not quite like anything, but making him so aware of his skin, of where he ended and fabric and air began caressing him. They sat tight and slightly lower on the hips than he was used to, then became fuller, flowing down to pool around his feet - odd, but surprisingly comfortable. Turning back to the chair to try on the two tops reminded him, not unpleasantly, that the cool satin fabric was moving across smooth sensitized skin all the way up his legs.  
  
Shaking his head slightly, he picked up the circuit t-shirt. Tugging it on over his head merely proved two things. His first few weeks on the site really had bulked up his biceps - enough to make the piping around the shirtsleeves distinctly uncomfortable. And secondly, that there was no way he was wearing a shirt cut that short and skimpy. Which left him with the bowling shirt. Still fiddling with the last button, Xander walked over to the full-length mirror and examined the effect. He stared at himself for a long moment. He hardly recognized the man in front of him. Standing a little straighter Xander stared himself in the eye a moment before looking over his reflection top to bottom once again.  
  
Staring in mirrors wasn't something he was overly familiar with - a quick check on the way out of the door to make sure he didn't have toothpaste on his mouth was more his style. But this stranger facing him, he didn't know quite how to feel about. He looked - good. The soft trousers draped smoothly, highlighting muscles and length in his legs, and seeming somehow elegant. And the shirt sort of worked. Narrow cut, with sleek lines he'd never have picked out for himself, and sheer panels where the pleated part of a dress shirt would be, for which he would definitely have put it back on the rack if he'd been shopping. But short and skimpy, and shiny and strapy were both right out, and Xander wasn't actually hating the new wardrobe - sort of went with the whole new look.  
  
Blunt painted nails reached up to touch the hair - soft buzzy fuzz at the back of his neck and then still shaggy on the top. But shaggy with style, snipped and brushed and blown so it fell forwards, framing his face. And with burgundy and crimson tufts - wefts Karl had called them - worked in, so he looked like he'd dyed sections of hair, lining up tiger stripes around his cheekbones, covering his ears, and making his eyes look oddly large. Hard to believe they were only temporary, but there was a bottle of surgical spirit and a dropper on the reception desk with his name on it, so he could take them out and go home safely. Because he so couldn't go back to Sunnydale, where there were friends he'd grown up with and people he went to work with every day looking like this. But, at a good safe distance from every day life, Xander was starting to think that maybe it wasn't such a hardship to be going to this gig after all. 'Course the company was leaving something to be desired, but, hell, fancy dress and a bit of role play; he could play the glamorous club guy for the night.  
  
Taking a final look, Xander nodded to himself, and only needed to take one deep breath before opening the door, looking for Lizzie, who was right outside, waiting for him.  
  
"Hey there handsome - you find something you like?"  
  
Wow - blushing was probably going to clash with the new hair color.  
  
"Erm - yeah - you think this works?"  
  
"You look great - everything fit ok then? - Hmm - just need the finishing touches, and you'll be all set" 


	5. 5

Gulp.  
  
"Finishing touches?"  
  
"Come on"  
  
Lizzie took the bag from him with one hand and pressed him back into the room with her other on his arm. Reaching into the bag, Lizzie hooked out the bag of jewelry and the pouches.  
  
"Right, first up - you'll need this for your cash and keys - safer than a wallet in a crowd, you know?"  
  
She unrolled one of the pouches, arranging it around one forearm with the heavy tear of Velcro so it ended up with a point of fabric coming down to his wrist and a solid silver zip running up his inner arm. Sort of armour- y, he thought. While he was still considering his own arm, Lizzie was sifting through the jewelry bag.  
  
"Hmmm - I think this one.. What do you think?"  
  
Stepping behind him she slid a cold heavy chain around the base of his neck. Plain and chunky, it was mostly hidden be the collar of the shirt. Xander hoped he didn't look too much like the medallion man.  
  
"If you think it works, I'm good"  
  
"Cool"  
  
And then she was standing beside him, looking at his reflection, and rummaging in another of the pouches.  
  
"Come here"  
  
She turned him bodily to face her, and then shook her head slightly.  
  
"This isn't going to work -you're too tall - sit down"  
  
Not quite sure what she was planning, he went along with her. Once he was sitting down she put her hand on his temple.  
  
"OK - look up and to the right"  
  
All thoughts of being at the optometrists were promptly driven out of his mind by an edge-of vision glimpse of something going to stab him in the eye, and a disconcerting dragging feeling on his eyelid. He flinched away.  
  
"What the.."  
  
"Calm down, Xander - it's just a little eyeliner"  
  
"Eyeliner!"  
  
OK, so that definitely wasn't calming down, was it? And she was just watching him, arms crossed, sort of a 'this is me being patient' look. Ok, ok, calm - eyeliner. Just some face paint, you know? No big deal - just make up. Stage make up - for the role - like Devon on stage. See - not so scary. He took a slow breath.  
  
"Sorry - just freaked me for a second there."  
  
"No, I'm sorry - I should have warned you. You ok for me to carry on?"  
  
"I guess"  
  
Running that mental tape of 'for the role - costume party', he returned to the chair, facing Lizzie, and bracing himself for her to carry on. Dry fingers pulled as the skin of his eyelid a little, and trying very hard not to look directly at the looming pencil, Xander held his breath. Poking, dragging, but not uncomfortable, it was remarkably easy just to let her take control, focussing his eyes as she instructed, first right, then left, then down, and finally looking her in the eyes.  
  
"That'll do - You've got such long lashes I don't think we need bother with mascara, just lips - can you pull your lips back for me - like this"  
  
She demonstrated, and Xander was suddenly glad that none of the faces he had to make to shave were anything like as silly as this and that Spike was safely elsewhere! Following her example, he felt her trace a hard line around the edge of his lips, and then soft greasy tickling swipes of some sort of brush coating them.  
  
"Ok, just look at me normally again"  
  
He relaxed his jaw, and looked up at her, smiling sheepishly.  
  
"I must look really odd, grimacing at you like that"  
  
"All part of the job - I see it in the mirror every day anyway. Right - I think that's you done - just need to put the sealant on, and you're all set.  
  
Xander nodded  
  
"This may sting a little, but it's just to seal the lipstick - you'll need to keep your lips open until it's dried - no talking or anything - you clear?"  
  
"Sure - no talking, no closing my mouth - check"  
  
"Good - so if you could just - that's great"  
  
Mouth frozen in the lipstick-rictus grimace, Xander heard the pop of the bottle being opened, watched her dip a long black brush in the clear lipstick, and felt the cold strokes of it on his lips. And seconds later the cold burn of it, the sharp stings as it found any tiny cracks. Remembering his instructions he stayed frozen in that ridiculous pose, pressing the nails of each hand into the palm alternately, and panting a little with the effort of not yelping at the astringent stabs.  
  
"Just a few more seconds, ok, Xander."  
  
He managed some sort of agreeing noise - hard enough without moving his mouth, let alone the distracting tingling. The pain was fading as fast as it had arrived though, and when Lizzie finally nodded, freeing him, it was the aching cheek muscles that he reached for first. Wiggling his jaw he was all too aware of Lizzie staring at him, smiling.  
  
"Go look at yourself in the mirror - I think you'll like it"  
  
And he did - in that weird not-me sense, he did - his eyes looked even larger with the smoky black rims, and the wine-dark lipstick matched the new hair, and made his teeth oddly visible, bright white as he bit his lip, considering. Flicking unconsciously with his tongue made him remember the sharp chemical topcoat. The jewelry worked too --not too medallion man after all, and the arm thing gave the whole thing a sort of swash-buckling edge. Of course, his sneakers were going to look *really* out of place with the new ensemble.  
  
Turning back to Lizzie he jumped when he found Spike grinning at him.  
  
"Jeez - Spike - you have to stop doing that!"  
  
"Some people are never satisfied - just brought you your boots, mate, it's time we were heading off"  
  
And he had - he dropped Xander's scuffed black work boots, steel toecaps and all, on the floor between them, missing his feet by inches. Xander's work boots that he'd almost forgotten slinging in the trunk as he left work yesterday. Yesterday? - Seemed like a lot longer ago. He bent down to pick them up just as Spike dropped a pair of new black sports socks on to the pile. Scooping them all up, with a nod to the unnaturally generous vampire, he returned to the chair to put them on. Spike gave him another long glance, before looking to Lizzie.  
  
"You've done a good job"  
  
"Thank you"  
  
"Can you see to getting everything packed up?"  
  
"Certainly"  
  
Spike turned back to Xander, who was desperately trying to persuade himself that his flushed cheeks were the result of bending over lacing the boots.  
  
Spike was still looking him over when he stood up, an open gaze tracking head to foot and back down again.  
  
"Come here."  
  
A quiet, calm voice, and trying all the while to figure out what exactly was going on, Xander did.  
  
"You scrub up nicely."  
  
"Erm, thanks. I think. Spike - what's with the make over? What's..."  
  
"Couldn't have you seen with me looking like you'd gotten dressed out of the reject basket of the Salvation Army, could I? Unbutton your shirt, will you."  
  
"No! Spike, what the hell.."  
  
Spike held up a tiny clear bag containing two silver hoops, with a look of long-suffering patience.  
  
"Jewelry, Harris, just jewelry. Bloody hell but you're jumpy. Now, come here."  
  
And while he was talking, and while Xander's brain had apparently been elsewhere for a moment, because he was sure he would have stopped them if he'd known, Spike's hands had been sliding buttons out of holes, and his chest was suddenly exposed. Head tilted to one side in concentration, cool fingers sliding over warm skin, Spike fished one of the hoops out of the bag, and prying it open, slid it around one nipple, squeezing it into a gentle pinch. Xander flushed, jumped, only to find that Spike had stepped forward as he went back, and seemed entirely focussed on applying the other ring. Another squeeze of cold metal, another hot flush, and this time Spike stayed put as he backed off.  
  
Xander took time to at least breathe in before yelling his outrage. Time to see himself in the mirror he'd ended up against, and time to think that just maybe he wasn't that outraged after all. The pair of rings, sharp silver against dark nipples and tanned skin, did look - interesting. Not too uncomfortable either, as the metal warmed to the slight throb of blood that he could feel now he was thinking about it, pushing against the pinch of the rings.  
  
"Sets the shirt off, mate. Didn't think that demon bint of yours would go for the real deal, at least not without her say so, but they'll do for the night."  
  
Absent-mindedly buttoning the shirt up again - and the rings did shine clearly, framed in the gauze panels - Xander felt compelled to defend his honor. Well, someone's honor anyway.  
  
"Ex-demon Spike. And she's hardly 'mine'".  
  
"Whatever. You ready to go?"  
  
"I guess." 


	6. 6

The gig was something of an eye opener for Xander. Darker, louder, hotter. The sheer volume - of noise and of people - was overwhelming: bass lines hitting the lungs, and so many bodies creating currents and rip tides that swept Spike out of sight within moments. He quickly realized that fighting the crowd wasn't going to get him anything except dirty looks, and let himself be jostled along. He ended up in the lee of what he guessed was a sound desk, and watched the rest of the show from there. Once he'd gotten oriented, settled in to the thump of the speakers and the rhythm of the lights he could almost have said he enjoyed it.  
  
Up on stage the band were throwing themselves around in front of abstract backlit projections, and while the music wasn't anything he'd have picked out for himself, the energy of the show was contagious. Presumably Spike was somewhere in that melee of flailing limbs and crowd surfers that boiled around the center stage. Xander was happier on the fringes, trying not to gawk at the crowd, and feeling suddenly grateful for the new outfit - far better camouflage in these surroundings than his usual baggy clothes. The driving rhythms of the band were contagious, and when they moved into a cover version of some eighties song that he knew he recognized Xander let the kinetic energy of the crowd take him into dancing, bouncing along, and screaming the words into the heavy air. By the time they finally gave up the stage for good, Xander was hot, breathing hard, and grinning wildly. Didn't often get the chance to let go like that, at a good safe distance from anyone who he might have to look in the face the next day.  
  
The crowd was thinning out a little - the tide moving back towards bars and bathrooms and merchandise stalls - but DJ's had picked up where the band left off. Casting around for the bleached menace, Xander pretty much concluded that Spike could find him when he wanted to, and that 'black clothes bleached spiked hair' didn't overly limit the field of people to try and follow.  
  
Going with the flow brought him up against one of the bars. Fishing in his arm-wallet-thing he ordered himself a beer. The thick air of the club and the dancing had left him thirsty, and the cool crisp liquid was welcome. Leaning back on the bar, he settled in for a spot of crowd watching.  
  
He could almost imagine looking at himself from the outside, dressed like this, casually having a drink, as the music thundered and the lights and the smoke chased off the last remnants of normality. Because this wasn't him - Xander Harris didn't do this stuff, didn't come to places like this. Yes that guy really was wearing a four-foot leather tail out the back of his jacket, and really, who'd have guessed that those two with the tattoos were with the Vincent Price look-a-like?  
  
The girl at the bar, with the black hair and the glowing white dress though, she was cute. And staring at him. Which meant they made eye contact. She smiled, and Xander instinctively returned his attention to the beer bottle before he could do anything embarrassing. Flicking her another glance - most definitely cute and actually still watching - he realized that she was the one staring and smiling. Maybe . Maybe groovy club guy could flirt a little, couldn't he? Getting into the role, Xander looked up to find himself staring at an empty bar stool. Ah well, mixed signals - not like he was used to being stared at in clubs. He caught a glimpse of bright white glow moving quickly though the crowds towards the exits, but couldn't see enough to know if it was her or not.  
  
"Hey there! - Come dance with me?"  
  
Wow - Xander jumped at the voice yelled in his ear, and dropped his gaze to find a curvy short girl wearing - um, well, actually not wearing that *much* pink fake fur - staring at him. She grabbed his hand, and tugged him towards the edge of a group of dancing people. Deciding that groovy club guy could definitely dance a spell, he necked the last of the beer, and let himself be towed away from the bar.  
  
"OK - promise not to laugh?"  
  
She just grinned, and spun around, dropping his hand to move to the music. All too aware that his usual dance style was somewhat out of place here, Xander boogied away gently, trying to figure out from the crowd what the best thing to do was. One of the guys that he was assuming was pink fluffy bra top girlie's friend caught his eye. He was tall - taller than Xander anyway, with pale skin, bright scarlet eyeshadow and glowing UV lines tracing patterns over his temples, and what looked like wiring mixed in with long thin hair. Xander gave a thought to the possibilities of some sort of non-human, but rapidly concluded that demon's probably wouldn't go in for anything that flamboyant. Moving in a little closer to be heard over the music, the guy nodded his head in the direction Xander had been staring.  
  
"You looking for someone? Lose your girlfriend in the crowd?"  
  
"Nope, no girlfriend"  
  
"OK, cool."  
  
They danced facing each other for a few beats longer, before the guy leaned in again.  
  
"I'm Matt."  
  
"Xander."  
  
Now Matt had brought it up though, he really ought to be keeping an eye out for Spike, and he turned away a little to scan the crowd again. The Bleached Menace would no doubt take great pleasure in the thought of him wandering the streets alone when the club threw them out, he thought, and he wasn't at all sure he could remember the route back to the hotel building. It had been a strange walk. He'd spent the first few minutes convinced that someone would stop him, accuse him of being a freak, or a fraud. The rest he'd been rubber necking at the pavements thickened with other people clearly headed to the same destination. The few shouted comments had been more camaraderie than the ridicule he'd feared, and he didn't think it was entirely wishful thinking to have thought that some of the looks they'd gotten had been appreciative. Spike always did know how to make an impression, after all.  
  
"So, do you come here often."  
  
Matt was close enough that Xander could feel the breath on his ear as the man shouted over the music, teasing him for his distraction. Xander grinned  
  
"That's one cheesy line! And no - first timer - first time for the band too"  
  
Matt's turn to grin.  
  
"Cool - 'Factory Virgin"  
  
Xander was just trying to figure out if he'd actually heard that right, and Matt was leaning closer still to say something further, when there was suddenly someone beside him. Strong fingers on his wrists, his waist, his jaw, and a cool tongue pressing into his mouth. Instinct opened his lips at the same time as his hands came up to push away and ended up tangled in torn t-shirt.  
  
For all the man who'd suddenly pushed between them was short and skinny, Matt was far from stupid enough to press the issue of courtesy with the challenge in those steel eyes as the other broke the kiss, and glared at him.  
  
"Mine. Back off."  
  
"Hey, man, no stress. Backing off!"  
  
And he meant that literally, hands upraised, shaking his head.  
  
"Jeez, what is your problem, man? - it's a free country"  
  
Spike raised his chin and the wattage on his glare a few degrees, but said nothing. Body language said everything, and after a tense second the human knew when he was out classed.  
  
"Whatever. Fuck you! "  
  
And he turned and started pushing through the crowd, followed by the girl and a few others, not concealing their stares. Spike relaxed his position as the crowd closed around the last of the group, turning back to Xander, but not taking his arm from around his waist.  
  
"Spike, what the *fuck* was that about?"  
  
"You have no bloody idea do you?"  
  
"What? No! Not a fucking clue - because if this is your idea of drumming up new blackmail material."  
  
Xander tried to twist away from that arm, make a grand exit, and just get the hell away from this situation. He should never have agreed to any of this: so stupid thinking he could trust Spike of all people! He'd been swinging from confusion to resignation all day, and just, final straw - too much.  
  
And then strangely warm muscles and fingers biting into his upper arms blocked his exit, and why in the heck wasn't the chip going off? Fingers buzzing against the strange new nakedness at the nape of his neck were pulling his head down. Hard, angry lips, smoke and beer and teeth. And it was - too much - just overload. That would be why his brain had apparently shut down and given his hands free reign to tear that shirt some more to get to skin warmed by the press of too many bodies, and his eyes permission to close against the onslaught of lights and motion. There was a wall at his back - that was new - and hands, everywhere, and a surprisingly solid body pressed against his, and lips, sliding on the slick lipstick, and tongues taking their frantic rhythm from the bass line. And his hands were there to, and his hips, moving without any conscious choice, and the crunch of spiked bleached hair in his hands was like ice crackling, and sparks were trying to keep up with those hands, skating and clawing and grabbing.  
  
And it should have been wrong, should have been gross and revolting and wrong. He should be furious at the invasion, incandescent about the whole idea of it. Day to day Xander was somewhere in a corner of his mind, shaking his head and gibbering slightly. But this wasn't him anymore, and no one would believe it anyway, and shit but this was hot, and he really needed to breathe. He pulled his head up slightly, panting hard again, drawing in warm sticky smoky air, and staring at close range into eyes dark with wanting. And shocks of realization started to twist in his stomach -// He. Wants me. And Christ, if this is head games, I'm fucked, because that finger that started off wiping smudged lipstick from the corner of my lips, that's stroking my skin like that, while he sees me like this. That finger's the only thing keeping me in the world at all.//  
  
It's like a silent movie, inside this noise, there's no point trying to argue with words - its show, not tell. He couldn't tell if that was his heart trying to escape his chest or the vibrations of the bass cabinet that was the wall they ended up against. Spike didn't step back, stayed pressed up close, his hands tangled in Xander's new shirt, still stalking his skin, stayed with his eyes so close, where each harsh breath Xander was taking would hit his face. Seeing something there, Xander slowly dropped his head again, leant in those precious inches, and nipped at Spike's lipstick- smudged bottom lip. One hand caressed a sharp cheekbone. And there in the noise and the crowd and the smoke there was a moment of stillness.  
  
And then Spike moved, swiftly deepening the kiss, and then dropping back, still one hand fisted in Xander's shirt, the other pushing a path through the crowd, faster and faster than should have been possible. Outside was sharp and thin and cold after the club, and Spike changed his grip to one elbow, but didn't look at him, keeping the momentum as he stalked past the hawkers and the hot dog stalls. 


	7. 7

The hotel door slammed shut behind them, and the silence was awkward, unnatural, with his ears still fuzzing from the volume of the night. Spike caught his eye for the first time since the club, and the intensity of the look hadn't changed any. If anything the quiet outside his buzzing ears, and the chill of the air and the blandness of the room just heightened it. Made everything all the more unreal.  
  
And the real Xander Harris used the moment to make a bid for his attention - what the hell was he doing? Spike must have seen something - some shift in body language, some hint of panic in his eyes, because he stopped watching and moved. Moved faster than ought to have been possible, putting himself between Xander and the locked door, and pressing him back, so something hit the back of is knees, and he ended up sprawled on a hotel bed, with a very focussed vampire flowing up his body. Which did nothing for his sense of rising panic: that this was a very bad idea, and could the world just stop a moment please so he could catch his breath? And then Spike kissed him again, and Xander stopped thinking.  
  
Cool skin, and a ferociousness, a hunger that something in him responded to, opening his lips, leaving his teeth to nip at that frightening tongue, tasting smoke, and beer, and something unfamiliar. He tried vainly to figure out what exactly those hands were doing, besides leaving trails of nerve endings tingling in their wake. Found, instead that his hands were responding in kind, tracing muscles and bone, finding satin skin and sharp corners, so different to the soft silk of Anya's curves. And in some twisted way that made this ok, that and the sheer need of it all - a near scary desperation for skin and lips and touching.  
  
His hitching breaths sounded loudly in the silent room, to an accompaniment of mattress noises, and a bass line of his thundering blood. His head was straining back, his body arching into those rough touches, all instinct and sensation, as Spike nibbled along his collar bones, swirled that startlingly cool tongue in the dips above them, and sandpapered against his neck. The shock of that thought dragged words to his lips, crushed beneath the gasps. He couldn't settle between protest and encouragement, a mad confusion of question and demand that never made it quite as far as complaint.  
  
"Spike! Oh! - shit - Spike? - oh yeah - Spike - please."  
  
Spike ignored him, ignored his words at least, moving harder, deeper on his skin, showing, speaking with touch, where words could never have taken him. Moving again, Spike stilled for a moment, arms either side of Xander's wide chest, that unfamiliar addictive look of pure focus on his face again. The remains of Xander's lipstick were smeared on his mouth. And the he dipped his head; keeping his eyes on Xander's, and catching one of the false nipple rings in his mouth. He twisted it, oh so gently, and Xander heard himself gasp. Spike ducked his head a little more and tugged it free. And oh shitChristpleaseyes - heated skin, pinched and rubbed all night meeting cool firm dabbing tongue, and Xander was so far beyond thinking now. He was clawing at the tattered t-shirt that was unfairly separating him from more of that skin, moaning and trying to angle his body, to draw Spike to the other nipple, pulsing so hot from the idea of release.  
  
Clawing lines of his own heat down that pale perfect back, pressing up into that mouth, and as his body oriented in this alien space, felt another jolt of arrousal, feeling Spike's evident enjoyment pressing against his thigh, Spike's own soft sounds vibrating against Xander's skin. Spike wanted this, wanted him - the thought was a high of its own, somehow, treading the line between gratification and terror. Flashes of Faith must have changed the frequency of his moans or something, because Spike stilled his hands, kissed Xander's tormented nipple once, so gently, and moved back up him to look him in the eye again, questioning. If it wouldn't make him sound entirely insane even to himself he would have thought that Spike looked concerned, even worried. But the Big Bad didn't do concerned or uncertain, so that couldn't be it.  
  
"Xander?"  
  
"Why? Spi .."  
  
"Wanted you so long, luv, so long."  
  
He'd never expected that. He lowered his eyes for a moment, holding that gaze was too much, and somehow that was permission for Spike to wriggle back down his body and, resume his assault. Was it wrong to be grateful that he didn't have to think any more? Some other him was clearly happy enough to hand over all control of the situation, and with feelings like this throwing and tumbling him between hands and lips and sharp hip bones, who was he to argue.  
  
Somewhere, somehow Xander's shirt was long gone, and the slide of the silky loose fabric of his pants on hairless skin was deliciously distracting with Spike's strong fingers kneaded and stroked him. Sharp refocus as the remaining false ring was tweaked a little, pinching down a shade more, and then abandoned to shiver as Spike breathed cross the nipple, sharp gusts of tremors. Hard kisses must be raising a chain of marks down his breast bone, and lying along side him, the vampire was riding his thigh, sliding parachute silk and hard want across skin that was either about to burst into flames or drown in an ice shower of shivers. Xander abandoned all hope of keeping track of what was touching what, where his hands were, what Spike's were doing. Closing his eyes and letting instinct and lust carry his body onwards was working so much better without his pesky brain trying to get in on the action. There was a distinctly unfamiliar blissful sensation of silk and nails at the crease of his thigh, and blue gold fireworks exploding as that talented tongue finally teased the ring off his nipple entirely. He screamed - someone screamed, and it was probably him, possibly him, He was almost too dazed to register the matching flash of gold in Spike's eyes as he bit into his own lip, driving harder still against Xander's leg, and freezing, shaking, coming. 


	8. 8

Something was tickling his back. He didn't recognize the pillowcase his face was scrunched into and something was ticking his back. This is not a good way to wake up, and there was a moment to contemplate that before the panic hit, sending him scrabbling too his feet and away from the bed. With  
  
no sounds of pursuit, and some distance between him and it, he turned around to see what the hell was going on. And that was the strangest picture - bland boring motel room, bedside lamps the only light, and one startled looking vampire. Plus he got a whole heap of recent memories that went with  
  
that vampire. Oh brother!  
  
"Shit! Spike - what is going on?"  
  
"You were out, I was bored"  
  
"You were bored! So, what? You were tickling my back?"  
  
"Just doodling. Too tempting to resist"  
  
He firmly put aside his rising sense of dread to concentrate on the conversation - had he really rushed here from the club last night to make out with Spike? Oh god, he had, hadn't he? - And tempting? What the?  
  
"Doodling?"  
  
Spike opened his had to show a silver tube - lipstick? Spike had been drawing on his back in lipstick?  
  
"You - you!"  
  
This was beyond words and Spike was just I looking /I at him, and oh Christ, but he was wearing a pair of shorts he'd never seen before, and that meant. The open door of the bathroom was just far too tempting a bolt hole.  
  
He stood for a moment, leaning back on the door, breathing, and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Because leaving aside the clothes and the club, and even the making out, Spike was being very strange. Screw that, Spike was being fucking weird, and it was freaking him out. He addressed the disheveled not-him in the mirror  
  
"You noticed that to, huh - new and improved snark-free morning Spike? What is going on with that? You have any ideas? You being the one who clearly thought that getting hold of him was a good idea!"  
  
He was distantly aware that there was a rising note of hysteria in his voice, and that arguing with his reflection maybe wasn't the best evidence he could come up with that he was the sane normal one in the suite.  
  
"It may have felt good, but I am so very sure it wasn't a good idea. Jeeze - what have I got myself into? Headgames, headgames upon headgames - bastard!"  
  
Xander stood up again, moving closer to the mirror and twisting around to see what exactly Spike had been doodling on his back. Dark burgundy lines swooped and curved across the parts he could see - an interlocking chain running up his spine to his hair line, and long diagonal stripes, and letters. At least he thought they were letters, reversed in the mirror, and unfamiliar in their curves. But that was ... what? ... 'S' and maybe a 'p' on his left shoulder, the part he could see, and 'ne' on his right hip - he twisted a little more - no, 'me'- something 'me' across his back just above the waistband of the shorts.  
  
He leant into the shower cubical, switching the water on hard and hot, and grabbing the shower scrubby and the tiny sealed bar of soap that was in the shower cubby, set to removing all traces of that traitorous lipstick.  
  
When his back felt sufficiently red and scrubbed, he dropped the soap, and ran his hands through his hair angrily, catching his fingers in the wefts. The pain did nothing for his mood. Spotting the salons' solvent bottle on a shelf by the sink, he stalked over and grabbed it. He threw a towel on the floor to catch the water dripping off him, and with short, jerky movements opened the bottle and dropped solvent onto his scalp.  
  
By the time he'd covered the sink in chunks of red hair, and reduced his head to a mass of bleeding scratches in his impatience he had calmed down a little. Looking his mirror self in the eye again he resumed his monologue.  
  
"I did not just think that Spike's going to be disappointed I took these out so soon, so you can just stop thinking that I did. I don't care what the bleached bloodsucker thinks of me. And why does that sound like I'm trying to convince myself?"  
  
He sighed, leant forward to rest his forehead on the cold glass, and closed his eyes, still for the first time since he woke up.  
  
He remembered the look in those eyes, soundlessly eloquent in the club, hungry, and somehow reverent back at the hotel. He remembered want and hunger and care. He remembered the feel of that body in his arms, those lips on his skin, on his mouth, that hair under his fingers. Wanted you - wanted. Too tempting.  
  
By the time he'd summoned up the courage to leave his sanctuary and carefully open the door, Spike was long gone. There was a message scrawled in lipstick on the dresser mirror. "Back before dawn - Spike." His stomach gave a painful twist at the same moment that he was relieved not to have to face him. There was a long drive ahead, and work on Monday, and too much to process.  
  
Xander crawled under the covers, and slept. 


	9. 9

Waking up later that morning was almost as disconcerting as it had been the first time. He really didn't want to think how many times you'd have to wake up beside a vampire not to find it terrifying.  
  
At least this time said vampire wasn't doing anything creepier than being very very still, and presumably asleep between him and the wall. Of course, that's plenty creepy enough. They were in a windowless room, but the clock on the dressing table said it was nearer lunchtime than breakfast. Hooking the bag with his own clothes in it from the dressing table, he headed back to the bathroom for another shower.  
  
Refreshed and dressed he was all set to head out in search of some breakfast - the previous day had been long on weird and short on dinner. But just walking across that hotel room was opening the way to all manner of strangeness, such as realizing that he'd just spent at least a minute staring at the sleeping Spike. Obviously, the vampire had slept in his basement, but that was mostly tied to a chair, and hadn't been the morning after whatever you'd call yesterday. There was something almost defenseless about him, sprawled loose and open on the bed.  
  
He'd got rid of the torn t-shirt at some point, and was topless, one arm thrown above his head, which absolutely wasn't drawing Xander's attention to the clear cut of his biceps, really. No breathing moving his chest, just sharp still ribs and pale unreal skin.  
  
The realization that he had been starting caught up with Xander, irritating him. He resumed his walk. As he reached to yank open the motel room door, though, the small Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the back of it caught his eye. More specifically the red marker pen hanging from it - intended so you could mark the time - caught his eye. A little revenge would be fair play, he thought.  
  
Standing over Spike he knew he'd have to move fast - as best he could tell he was fast asleep, but he still had the super-senses thing going for him, and if the sharp scent of the marker didn't wake him up, then the cold touch of it would. Chip or no chip - actually, yes, chip, Spike probably wasn't going to wake up in the best of moods. He thought for a moment about what he was about to draw, and grinned, just a little.  
  
" Perfect"  
  
He snapped off the pen lid, and struck with quick strokes - a giant swirling daisy across the pale muscled chest, using one nipple as the flower's center, and a heart across the ridged stomach. He was just about on the last sweep of the heart when a cool hand grabbed his wrist, twisting it painfully.  
  
"Oww!"  
  
"Oww!"  
  
Xander managed to wrench away as Spike's hand went automatically to his pounding head.  
  
"What the hell do you think your doing!"  
  
Xander kept the thought of the chip firmly front and center of his mind and fought his rising amusement. Spike hadn't noticed yet.  
  
"What was the phrase, Fangless? I was bored?"  
  
Spike stared at him for a second, then looked down at himself.  
  
"You were bored, egh? And that's the best you could come up with?"  
  
"You didn't exactly give me a lot of time for artistic exploration Spike"  
  
Xander responded, brandishing a reddened wrist. He was trying not to be any further disconcerted by the unexpected lack of bloodthirsty rage. Spike was looking at him almost questioningly as the vampire scrubbed absently at the flower on his chest. He looked down at what he was doing.  
  
"Bloody Hell Xander! - This is permanent fucking ink!"  
  
"Well pardon me! - You'll just have to keep your damn shirt on for a few days."  
  
Whatever it was that had been in that look was well and truly lost in the return to their sniping norm.  
  
"No, Xander I'll just have to scour my own skin off. It'll heal, but it'll still fucking hurt. Cheers!"  
  
Spike pushed past Xander roughly to get to the bathroom, and Xander was treated to the Vampire Moaning Chorus with accompaniment on the shower.  
  
"Well that went to plan," he said, pretty much to himself. Something about Spikes reactions were way off the expected, but then, in light of this whole road trip, expectations and reality had apparently stopped talking some time ago.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"What!" came the growl from the open bathroom door  
  
"I'm going to get some lunch."  
  
*****  
  
There was a dinner on the ground floor of the hotel building - nothing swanky, but they fed him enough coffee and waffles to make him feel human again, and MTV on the overhead TV's provided a happy distraction. He was trying very hard to avoid thinking, because really, there wasn't a lot of logical explanation to cover the last couple of days. The red leatherette and wipe down tables were reassuringly normal though, and his waitress, who looked like she might be working her way through college with her brown hair pulled up in a perky ponytail, seemed happy enough to keep topping up his coffee for however long it took.  
  
His car keys landed on the table in front of him.  
  
"Cars packed."  
  
"What the ...?"  
  
"I said, car's packed. We should get going."  
  
"Jeez! Spike! Watch the sneaking!"  
  
"Why don't you try paying attention to your surroundings Harris - now come on - you're the one who was so damn keen to get off on schedule."  
  
"Some of us have work to go to tomorrow Spike."  
  
"And some of us are about to spend five hours in the sodding trunk of your car so you can be there. Happy?"  
  
Xander's reaction came out as an inarticulate sigh, so he settled for tucking a fold of notes under the coffee mug and making his way to the exit.  
  
It was going to be a long drive. 


End file.
